The Adventures of Martin Quartus!
by Vanillite the Dragonslayer
Summary: Welcome to the life of Martin Quartus. He's a Snow Elf raised by an Imperial, who decided to kick him out of their home for no coherent reason. Join him on his wanderings in the land of Skyrim, where one can chug mead, slay dragons, warp reality, and maybe meet a Daedric Prince or two. Oh, and the cheese! It's to die for.
1. Prologue: Not This Again!

**Finally, a break from my cosmic overplanning! Let's have some fun! I'm bringing back Morrowind's weapon variety too! Spears and shurikens, anyone?**

**Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls series belongs to Bugthesda, who should really release TES: Blades by now.**

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Prologue: Not This Again!

Everyone knows about the Nords of Skyrim, and how they commited mass genocide of the Snow Elves to claim their lands for their own, driving the Falmer to hide underground with the Dwemer and degenerate into mindless beasts.

However, some pockets of still-sapient Snow Elves survived up until the Fourth Era, when in the year 4E 150, the last Snow Elf couple died not long after their son was born. Their offspring was soon found by an Imperial woman with a hidden agenda, who raised him until the elf reached the cusp of adulthood in the year 4E 201.

And this is where our story begins.

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**21st of Last Seed, 4E 201**

"Hey you, you're finally awake." I opened my eyes to a blonde man in front of me. From his accent and appearance, he was obviously a Nord. We were bound on a cart, and I could see two other Nords seated nearby. One was also blonde, wearing regal-looking attire which contrasted with the simple cloth gag tied around his mouth, and the other was a dark-haired peasant.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" The first blonde continued, "Walked into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

He gestured over to the dark-haired man, who started complaining about "Stormcloaks". I've heard of that term, the rebels up here in Skyrim, if I remember correctly. I recalled the fact that they were at war with the Empire. Politics, _ugh_. Mother always warned me against dabbling in the affairs of nations and stuff, "Besides, the previous Empire was better than this one." She always said, "It has gone to the dogs, I'll say! The Medes, lapdogs of the Aldmeri Dominion! Damn Altmer..."

"Who's he?" I asked the blonde man about the gagged guy.

"Watch your tongue, elf." The man replied sternly, "You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!"

"Ulfric, the leader of the rebellion? That means... Oh gods, where are they taking us?!" The thief asked alarmingly.

"I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits." The blonde Nord stated bravely. That made me think, where would _my_ soul end up when I die? I'm not a Nord, so I can't go to Sovngarde, and I'm not affiliated with any Daedra. Would I be doomed to wander Tamriel as a ghost?

As I sat there in thought, the two ungagged Nords had a quick chat. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead..." The thief replied, "I'm from Rorikstead."

His statement made me think of my old home back in Cyrodiil, which I was unceremoniously kicked out of by my adoptive mother with nothing but the clothes on my back and my simple magic skills. All that time training for combat, wasted by the fact that I had no weapons or armor of my own. What little money I could scavenge from brigands was usually spent on food and water, and their flimsy equipment often broke after a few hits.

I've seen my mother do tons of crazy things in the fifty years I've known her, but kicking me out and reasoning that I had a destiny to follow was proof that she's truly off her rocker.

We approached a village where an Imperial soldier called out to General Tullius, head of the Empire's forces in all of Skyrim.

"Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor." The blonde Stormcloak said mockingly, "Looks like the Thalmor are with him too. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with it. No offense to you, of course."

"None taken," I replied, then lowered my voice into a quiet whisper, "I don't like the Thalmor either. Banning worship of Talos is quite disrespectful to you men, and as an elf raised by a semi-traditionalist Imperial, I'm quite offended by it too." My mother may have been crazy, but at least she taught me to respect the Nine. She was somehow devout enough to keep shrines for all of them back home, and even a tenth one that remained unmarked, where she would offer some cheese at random intervals. Yup, definitely totally insane.

The Nord stared at first, then his face shifted into a smirk. "I guess some elves aren't all that bad, huh."

Our quick respite came to a screeching halt the same time the cart did. The thief was panicking as an Imperial Captain called for a list to be read, lining us up for execution.

The soldier in front of us, another dark-haired Nord, first called out Ulfric's name. Next on the list was Ralof of Riverwood, who I assumed was the blonde guy. When the thief, Lokir, was called, he whined about how he wasn't a rebel, tried to flee, and got shot in the ass by an Imperial archer.

"You there, step forward." The soldier commanded me calmly, "Who are you, elf?"

"Martin Quartus." I replied, giving the name I had as far as I can remember. The Imperials threw strange glances my way, surprised that an elf like me had an Imperial-sounding name.

"You're a long way from Cyrodiil, citizen. What're you doing here in Skyrim?" He wondered, "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list, he goes to the block." She replied harshly. Well, I guess my terrible journey comes to an end here, in a place far from home with nobody familiar in sight. I looked on as Tullius insulted Ulfric in his face and a Stormcloak soldier got executed, not before we all heard a strange roar.

"Next, the pale elf!" The guard captain yelled, as another roar rang out from the heavens.

"I'm a Snow Elf, damn it!" I muttered under my breath. I took my place at the chopping block, and just as the headsman was about to swing, a huge creature appeared from above and roared, causing the headsman to collapse and allowing me to make a run for it.

What happened next was utter chaos. The thing flew around and set the town aflame, the imperial soldiers tried to fend it off, and everything was basically like the stories my mother used to tell me about the beginning of the Oblivion Crisis in the town of Kvatch, but instead of a swarm of daedra coming out of a portal, it was a terrifying dragon (identified by the Nords) coming out of nowhere this time around.

"Head for the tower, Martin! The gods won't give us another chance!" Ralof called out, and we made our way to a small tower where the prisoners gathered.

"What was that thing?" The blonde Nord asked his leader, "Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric simply stated. "We need to move. Now!"

We climbed up the tower, only to be interrupted by the dragon leaving a hole in the wall. A burnt building lay on the other side of the road, and since I had no other option, I jumped.

One crazy run later, I somehow found the dark-haired soldier from earlier, who led a child to safety. He then turned to me. "Still alive, prisoner? Stay with me if you want to keep it that way."

The soldier was to join General Tullius in the defense, so he assigned one of his fellows to take care of the boy as we made a mad dash through the ruined town and arrived at a decently-sized stronghold.

"Hadvar, into the keep! We're leaving!" The General said, as the imperial army was starting to make a run for it. Soon after, Ralof showed up, argued with Hadvar, and I had to choose which one to follow.

I went with Hadvar, because as much as I don't really like the Empire, unity with Skyrim is one of the few chances we had at gaining the upper hand against the Aldmeri Dominion, and the Stormcloaks are obstructing Cyrodiil from reaching that goal.

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"Looks like we're the only ones who made it." Hadvar observed as we safely entered the keep, "Was that really a dragon? A Bringer of the End-Times?"

"I think so." I replied, "But can you get me out of these binds?"

"Oh, right." He took a dagger and cut the ropes binding my hands. I breathed a sigh of relief and waved my left hand around, causing a frost spell to form at my fingertips.

"So you're a mage, huh." He noted. "I believe we haven't introduced ourselves properly yet. Hadvar of Riverwood, imperial soldier." He extended out his right hand to me, and I shook it with my free hand.

"Martin Quartus, the last known Snow Elf with an actual damn functioning brain."

"You're a Snow Elf? Like the ones in the old Nord legends?" He asked, eyes wide in shock.

"Yes. From what I know, my parents died soon after I was born. Fortunately, an Imperial woman by the name of Sirianne Quartus found me and raised me as her own." I explained, "She was a really strange one, I suppose. She had a weird obsession with cheese and was prone to doing crazy things at random, such as kicking me out of my own home, for instance. Something about a destiny to follow, but I didn't really believe her."

"You said your name is Martin, like the last Septim emperor?"

I nodded. "Yes. Mother said she named me after an old friend who died long before she found me, so I'm probably not named after Martin Septim himself. Imperials don't live that long, although I did notice that she seemed like she never aged. When I was a child, she seemed to be in her twenties or her thirties. Even though I've reached adulthood by now, she looked exactly the same when I last saw her six days ago."

"I think that's enough idle talk for now." Hadvar said, "We should take a look around and see if there's any weapons and armor for us to use. Can you fight well, mage?"

"I'm proficient at one-handed spears and wearing medium weight armor." I replied, "I display some skill with a sword but mostly stick to using frost magic."

"Good to know. Check the chests for equipment, maybe they left some gear lying around." He pointed to the chests strewn around the room. I rummaged through them and found a set of imperial chainmail armor, and an iron spear too. I put the armor on, relieved at having fresh clothes for a change, then gripped the spear with my right hand and readied my frost magic on my left. Hadvar opened the door leading further inside and we began making our escape from the doomed city, ready for combat.

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"Hear that? Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them." Hadvar whispered. Of course, as an imperial soldier, he'd try diplomacy before combat. If I were him, I'd probably try it too, but now clearly wasn't the time for reasoning with them.

As soon as the iron gate opened, the Stormcloaks spotted us. "An elf!" One of them said, "He's probably with the Thalmor! Get him!" The three Nords charged at us, but we were prepared for them. Hadvar blocked an axe-wielding one with his shield, then slashed at her with his iron blade. The second one blindly ran at me with his broadsword, swiftly getting him impaled on my lance. I sprayed frost at the third one, slowing him down enough for Hadvar to chop his neck off.

"Good job, Hadvar." I commented, and he nodded. "I could say the same to you, Martin."

"Thanks, but we should really get going." I said, "There's probably more of them down there. As for these dead ones... I think we should take their equipment for ourselves." I found a sack lying around and stuffed it with weapons and armor from the bodies, leaving a bunch of dead Nords in their underwear strewn about. You may think that it might be wrong to loot their corpses, but hey, at least I had enough honor to let the dead keep their underwear. Mother said she used to do the same when she was an adventurer.

Once I gathered all the equipment I could salvage from the dead Stormcloaks, I opened a portal to a pocket realm in Oblivion and dumped the contents of what I now call my "Loot Sack". My mother had taught me that spell, one she had crafted herself as a master of Conjuration magic. I made a mental note to learn how to summon a Frost Atronach, something like that might come in handy in the near future.

"That conjuration spell seems like it could come in handy while travelling." Hadvar noted, "Say, Martin, what are you planning to do once we get out of this little slice of Oblivion fate has served to us?"

"I honestly don't really know." I replied, "First, I would warn the local authorities of the impending dragon threat, then I'd probably wander until I figure out what to do. I'm leaning towards doing odd jobs here and there, whatever would benefit the local populace. Perhaps I'll pass by Winterhold and check out the College."

"That plan is... actually pretty solid. Me, I'll be heading to Solitude to inform the Legion of the situation. If the old legends are true, the end of the world has truly come." The Nord legionnaire said solemnly.

"I certainly hope that isn't the case." I muttered, "Anyway, we should really get going by now. Who knows how long this building will last with that monster just outside its walls."

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**And there we have it, the dawn of a new saga! Introducing Martin Quartus, an icy Snow Elf who you can probably compare and contrast to my other character, Matthew. The two of them have some similarities and differences, as you'll find out over the course of this story.**

**In terms of Fire Emblem classes, Martin would be a Basara from Fates: A well-rounded hybrid class using both spears and spells. (But in OC Emblem he's a Dark Knight who uses Anima in addition to the standard Lance/Dark combo whoops spoilers)**

**I probably spent too much time and effort on Helgen, but I hope it gives you readers a glimpse of how Martin is. I'll be skipping straight to Riverwood though, because we'll meet our first party member (Faendal) there.**

**It's actually quite refreshing to write something completely unrelated to the Lunar Saga! Good thing I don't have to worry about tying the worlds together!**

**Or do I?**

**I don't know, it depends on whether the Dragonborn becomes Smash Ultimate DLC or not. Who knows?**

**This is Vanillite the Dragonslayer, signing off.**


	2. Chapter I: Some May Call This Junk

**Hello and welcome back to TAoMQ, let's get this show on the road. I had to go two weeks with limited electronics usage after visiting a psychiatrist, and now I gotta take some meds every night. But at least I cooked up some D&D stuff! It was fun!**

**Disclaimer: Bethesda owns the Elder Scrolls series, hopefully they don't mess up with 6 or Blades.**

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Chapter I: Some May Call This Junk

So, let me recap what happened.

We managed to escape Helgen, which was being attacked by a mother-flipping DRAGON.

Cue Hadvar talking about a nearby town by the name of Riverwood, where he has some relatives who might have more free stuff for my adventure.

Yes, I _am_ a kleptomaniac, why do you ask?

Anyway, after a trip to a circle of rocks (I chose the Mage, it's my mother's birthsign), we made our way to Riverwood, wherein Hadvar began to tell his uncle Alvor about the dragon. However, I had other plans.

"Excuse me sir, do you have a smelter I could use?" I asked, to which Alvor nodded and replied, "It's out there at the back of the forge if you need to use it. I had it built along with a spare tanning rack just a week ago."

"Thank you, I'll be taking my leave." I said as I shoved all their utensils and pots and pans into my pocket Oblivion realm to sell later. Hey, they _said_ I could take it all. Really, I'm not kidding.

Then I went outside and pulled out the weapons and armor I looted from my enemies' corpses. I tossed them all into the smelter and managed to get at least fifty iron ingots and ten steel ingots. After doing that, I went to the tanning rack and carefully recycled the leather bits to obtain at least twenty-five scraps of leather.

I decided that was enough and went to town, entering a general store named the Riverwood Trader. After selling all of the stuff I got from Alvor's place, I promised the merchant (who was a fellow citizen of Cyrodiil) to find his family heirloom and left with a sizable bag of gold from my bartering. I bought some lockpicks from the guy too, because apparently literally every general store in Tamriel sells them, or so I've heard from my mother.

After that, I went to the inn to buy some food such as meat, stew, and cheese! Ah, cheese. It was always mother's favorite food. In fact, she crafted a spell which threw flaming cheese. She called it the Cheese Throw spell, and had a stronger rapid-fire variant named Cheese Torrent.

The bard in the inn also told me to deliver a letter to the merchant's sister Camilla, and tell her it was from a guy named Faendal. I decided to take a look at the letter myself, and...

I was appalled at what this guy was planning! He forged a shitty letter and planned for Camilla Valerius to reject Faendal so he could presumably have her instead! I made up my mind to tell Faendal about this.

Wait, who _is_ Faendal?

"Excuse me, bard boy, who's Faendal?" I asked. The blonde bard scowled, and apparently was oblivious to the fact that I read his forged letter right in front of him. "He's that Wood Elf hunter who thinks he can woo Camilla Valerius. He's got brown skin and an ugly face too. He'll probably stand out as the only one of his kind out here in Riverwood." He spat venomously.

"Oh okay. Good day to you, then." I muttered sarcastically and zipped around town to find the Bosmer.

Turns out, he was skinning some salmon. "Hail, Bosmer." I greeted, "Are you Faendal?"

"Why yes, my fellow elf. Wait, what kind of elf are you, anyway?" He questioned, "You sure don't look like an Altmer or Dunmer to me."

"I'm a Snow Elf, the last of my kind."

"Ah, I see. What do you need, good sir?"

"Well, there's this bard in the inn who told me to deliver this letter he forged to Camilla Valerius and tell her it was from you. I think you should take a look." I handed him the letter and his face hardened as he read it. "Damn that Sven! Well, two can play at that game." Faendal pulled out some paper and wrote on it. "Why don't you deliver _this_ letter and tell her it was from _him_?"

"I like the way you think." I commented, "Welp, time to deliver the letter!" And so I delivered Faendal's forged letter to the merchant's sister and told her it was from Sven. Her reaction to its contents was pure rage. "Tell him he can find someone else to be his nursemaid, that milk-drinker." She huffed, seething with anger. (Personally, I take offense to the Nord term of "milk-drinker". Milk tastes good and does wonders for one's body! When I used to live with my mother, I would drink milk every day!)

Anyway, after I got that fiasco sorted out, I went back to Faendal and shook his hand. "Mission accomplished, friend." I told him.

"Thanks, uh..."

"Martin Quartus."

"...Martin. So, what are you planning to do now?"

"I'm off to Whiterun, I guess." I replied, "I gotta do something urgent."

"Want me to come along?" He offered, "You might need a hand or two, and I'm skilled at archery."

"Sure! It'll be nice to have you around, friend." I said and shook his hand once more. "Hold on, I think I've enough materials to craft you some armor. Want a suit of leather armor?"

"Sure thing!" He replied cheerily, and I took some leather from my hoard to craft a full suit of leather armor for him.

"Well, I guess we're off to Whiterun now!" I announced as I handed him the armor. "Let's go! Oh, and be sure to shoot any deer on sight, okay? I could go for some venison right now."

"You got it. And yeah, some venison does sound delicious."

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**There we go, Chapter 1 is now complete! Whew, I really gotta write these longer. What do you guys think? Should I?**

**Yeah, probably.**

**This is Vanillite the Dragonslayer, signing off.**


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